NO CHANCE IN HELL
by FanWriterWV
Summary: The death of Mr. McMahon was watched by millions on Monday Night RAW. What they didn't see were Vince's final moments, or who might have done it. But he did.


_**NO CHANCE IN HELL**_

The look on Vince's face was calm, almost tranquil. He was no longer the ranting madman people had been seeing for the past two weeks. As he left the arena and strode out past the lines of wrestlers who watched him leave, it was almost anticlimactic.

"Vince! Sir…your limo is this way." Jonathan Coachman was grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. On any other night, Vince probably would have taken Coach's head off. Instead, he simply glanced at Coach and went back up the hallway.

Brisco and Patterson were the last to see him leave the arena. Vince didn't know what was on their minds and didn't really care. He had finally come to terms with the demons that had plagued his thoughts and, as far as he was concerned, they didn't even exist.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Vince felt that there might be something wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was true that last week he had spoken of a dark cloud that was threatening him, but it couldn't have been anyone he had just passed. None of them had the collective brains for it, for one thing. The people who could have done something-Stone Cold, for example-had all taunted him at a distance. The only one who had offered any real respect had been Randy Rhodes, the American Dream.

Vince was a little worried about Shane. The heir apparent to his empire certainly had the old man's guts and ambition-but he had been living in Vince's shadow all his life. There would be a lot of wolves coming after him now. One wolf in particular, Eric Bischoff, concerned him the most. Bischoff had been the only man to beat him in the ratings several weeks in a row. He wasn't as smart as Vince-well, no one was, Vince reminded himself-but he was just as devious and maybe even a little unhinged.

Nah, Shane would be fine. Shane and Stephanie would make a hell of a team and carry on the McMahon tradition. They'd learned well from their old man; they would spit on all those losers who had no life, who had booed him week in and week out. Sure, Vince told himself as he walked up to the limo. They'd be fine.

The parking lot was oddly empty, save for the two maintenance guys he'd passed as he left the arena. The limo was running as usual. Vice took one last look around as he opened the door and climbed in.

The interior was dark. Vince saw that the driver's partition had been rolled up. "Hello?" he asked. "Come on, let's get this thing going. I want to get out of here." Vince looked down at his left leg. "Damn. My pants are caught-just a minute." He cracked open the door and stuck his foot out as he reached down. Then he pulled his foot back in. "There!" Vince leaned back against the seat in satisfaction. "I feel really good tonight, you know that?" he said to the unseen driver. "In fact, right now, you could say I'm in nirvana. Heaven, you know what I mean?" Vince frowned. "Hey!" He tapped the partition. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I hear you, Mr. McMahon," a voice on the other side responded. "And I'm glad you're in such a good mood. It's a good thing you mentioned heaven-because that's where you're going, right…now."

The partition lowered. Vince stared at the face that appeared in shock. "No! It can't be!"

The figure smiled. "Goodbye, Vince."

The figure slid out of the other side of the driver's seat. Vince heard the limo's doors locking and looked around in panic. "Why didn't I see this coming?" he asked himself. "How the hell did I get myself into this? And why, of all people, did it have to be…"

But Vince's words were lost in a fireball as the limo exploded.

Several feet away, the figure who had just spoken to Vince was watching with grim satisfaction. _It's over. Rot in hell, you SOB. _Then his cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"Is it done?" the familiar voice on the other end was guardedly hopeful.

The figure nodded. "It's done. He's dead. Nobody could have lived through that."

"Thank God." The voice was filled with relief. "He's gone. It's finally over."

The figure nodded. "Now the real work begins."

THE END


End file.
